He sits alone in a bare room
The scratch of a match, and the light of a candle
Make the parchment loom.
The metronome screams, giving him more beats than he can handle.
The song inside his head rains onto the paper.

The flooded sheet zips through a scanner.
Stuck in the darkness, it’s clones are born.
They are jammed in a box in such a crude manner.
Countless days, spent in boxes, finally over when the tape is torn
Like morning glories they shine.

Their happiness only lasts for a moment,
Musicians, pencil in hand,
Prove to be their greatest opponent.
They are beaten, scratched, and labored by the band,
Only to be locked back in the darkness, forever more.